


Magic Hands

by Storyshark2005



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: 1996 hair, 90s LawRusso, Doug Henning, M/M, Magic Hands, Magic Tricks, bar!LawRusso, johnny has really deft hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:01:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24846478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storyshark2005/pseuds/Storyshark2005
Summary: 1996. Daniel LaRusso walks into a bar, and Johnny Lawrence has some tricks up his sleeve.
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Comments: 23
Kudos: 172





	Magic Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostmagician](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostmagician/gifts), [narcissablaxk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/gifts).



  
  
  
  


###  **July, 1996**

There were worse things in life than working outside all day, even in the high heat of the Los Angeles summer, and even when the job was dead-end. But it’s been a bad enough day that Johnny’s only saving grace might just be a few cold beers and a good lay. 

And so he finds himself with a four beer buzz on in a shitty dive by four o’clock on a Tuesday night. 

Ok so Johnny’s working for Rob Brown (yes, _still_ , he’s been doing it since summer after high school but it’s steady work and Rob needed the help) and it’s high summer— prime patio season. And apparently the good old brick patio was out of style-- everybody wanted a ‘natural’ look, which meant giant, irregular limestone big ass _rocks--_ and these motherfuckers were like 28lbs per square foot, because these Encino assholes didn’t want 1-inch thick stone, they wanted ‘the good stuff’ which they didn’t _need,_ but which they picked anyway because it was the most expensive item on the menu (and Johnny has _begged_ Rob, _just sell them the 2-inch stone and install the 1-inch, they’ll never notice and we can do it literally twice as fast--)_ but Rob Brown isn’t the type of contractor to do that because he has like, a conscience, just as bad as his son who is still in Colorado spreading the good word. 

Fucking Bobby. If Bobby wasn’t off shepherding sheep, or whatever he thinks he’s doing, he'd be right here with Johnny working and sweating and things would be about a thousand times better.

But Johnny doesn’t have Bobby. And it’s Johnny’s back that has to suffer, because Johnny’s the one who has to teach the Mexicans that Rob drags to the jobsite from church (no questions, no green card, no english) because why the hell would these guys know how to lay out a flagstone patio that will meet the approval of some asshole with a McMansion on Mulholland Drive? They’re from fucking... who knew where. Some shithole town that was worth running away from, anyway. Somewhere without flagstone patios and saltwater pools and gated country clubs. 

He doesn’t blame them. It’s just frustrating. 

So Johnny has to show them how to do it, and if he leaves them on their own half the time it’s not right and they have to pull the stone back up and re-do the mortar and re-set and it’s basically a giant fucking pain in Johnny’s ass. 

Ronnie is the new guy Johnny’s working with, and Johnny’s pretty sure he’s sending like 70 percent of his paycheck back home, and the guy has about as much personality as the retaining wall they’d installed last week. He doesn’t speak English so he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t drink beer on lunch break. But he shows up on time and works his ass off and he really is better than the last three guys, so Johnny’s actually hoping he sticks around. 

Today, though. Today he and Ronnie had been working like a well-oiled machine, laying down the last of the giant fucking stones, mortaring the whole thing, wiping it down by hand so there wasn’t any sand or dirt on top, and they were _juuuust_ about to coat the whole thing with a sealer and call it a day-- 

This is usually when the homeowner shows up and points out “mistakes.” 

The guy had come out (hands on his hips Johnny swears to God) and he looks over the whole patio, and he has the fucking nerve to say—

“You used the wrong color mortar.” 

Ronnie looked confused (of course he was confused) and Johnny looked up and asked him as politely as Rob’s always yelling at him to be, and he asks, _Why what do you mean, Sir?_ And the guy says he wanted “buff”, and that they had “clearly used gray.” Johnny then takes a breath and informs the guy that the work order has a section specifically for the mortar color, and that the lady of the house had checked the box for “Standard Gray.” And the guy snaps back that he had called Rob “first thing yesterday” to change the color to “Natural Buff” and really, the next several minutes can and should be forgotten, minutes of his life that Johnny will never, ever get back, minutes that include the guy getting Rob on the phone, and then handing it to Johnny, who had to suck in his lips and metaphorically bend over and nod and agree with Rob over the phone that _the customer is always right_ and Johnny will have to apologize profusely— Rob assures him that no, it’s not Johnny’s fault but unfortunately Johnny and Ronnie will have to pull up every single fucking stone paver they’d laid over the last two days, and wash off the sand and mortar, and stack them up to dry so that they can show up for the _next_ two days and do the same, exact, stupid, fucking, goddamn patio over again, just with a slightly different color mortar that no one will ever, ever notice, which will cost _Brown & Son Landscaping, Llc. _about two grand in re-work, material, and labor costs. 

So Fuck. This. Day. 

It was kind of a funny moment, though, after the guy walked off and took his fancy cellphone with him, Ronnie shook his head and muttered, clear as day, “Fucking asshole,” and Johnny had to laugh and slap him on the back, and on the ride back to Ronnie’s place, Johnny discovers that Ronnie actually does speak some English. It’s a little stilted and some words he has to search for and they’re not always right, but it turns out Ronnie’s just shy, and certainly not stupid, and Johnny thinks if Ronnie sticks around awhile, maybe work won’t be as mind-numbing and terrible as it’s been since Bobby left. 

Anyway, even discovering Ronnie was actually pretty cool, it’s not enough to salvage this shithole of a day, and so Johnny drives straight from Ronnie’s place to his usual, a low-key joint a block away from his apartment, close enough so if his night goes right he can stumble back home, hopefully with some company. He walks in, and the beer and the air-conditioning are cold and crisp, and there are several chicks in the bar he can hit on, and Johnny thinks with a little luck, today might not turn out to be so bad after all. 

Karen (or Kristi?) has hair like Farrah Fawcett and great tits and an even better smile. He buys her a beer and a shot, and soon they’re talking and she’s smiling and laughing too loud with kind of a dopey expression on her face (he’s used to this effect, his charm works well on a certain kind of girl, the kind of girl with which he can pretty easily predict the outcome of the evening. Not all girls, but quite a few, and surprisingly hot ones, too.) 

Ali, he knew, would never have fallen for the stupid kind of shit he pulls these days. But that was before everything went to hell, and those days were long gone. These days he stayed away from girls like Ali, girls with quick eyes and sharp tongues.

Kristi’s eyes were not so quick.

“Okay, now watch closely,” he holds his hands up, tilting his jaw at a flattering angle, and sees Kristi/Karen just lapping it up. There’s a quarter pinched between the fingers of his left hand, and he tilts it side to side, catching on the lights above the bar. He pretends to slip it into his right hand, closing his fingers into his fist. 

“The quarter is in my right hand,” he keeps his voice velvety, staring deeply into Kristi/Karen’s eyes, big and dumb and very pretty, just like Rob’s golden retriever Skipper. “Now, sweetie--” he deftly avoids the name dilemma, and holds out his right fist. “I’m gonna show you something, but to make the magic work, you gotta blow on it--” 

Kristi/Karen (jesus, okay, let’s just call her Kraren, he’ll never fucking remember) grins, and leans forward, giving Johnny a really spectacular view of her breasts. The pink bra is cute. She puckers her lips together, and blows--

“The quarter’s in his left hand. Oldest trick in the book.” 

The voice floats over from down the bar, straight out of Johnny’s nightmares. Johnny turns slowly, murderously, knowing exactly who’s mouth the voice was coming out of.

Kraren stops mid-blow, pulls her head back up, and snaps her head to look at Johnny’s left hand, hanging casually at his side. 

Johnny slips the quarter in his pocket, and turns down the bar, smiling over his inner-rage. 

Kraren is immediately forgotten, he’s pretty sure she slips back to her gaggle of giggling friends at the jukebox in the corner, vanished away along with any hopes of Johnny getting laid tonight. 

“Oh, _boy,_ it’s my lucky day,” Johnny widens his grin, turning fully to face the Karate Kid himself. LaRusso had _barely_ changed. His hair was a little longer, face a little fuller, and he was wearing some kind of cheap suit. He looked like a used car salesman. “Aren’t you a little young to be in an adult establishment, LaRusso? Frank, did you check his library card?” 

Frank, as usual, ignores Johnny, and keeps cleaning glasses. He maybe rolls his eyes. 

LaRusso swaggers down the bar, slips his beer on the bar top, and cocks his hip to the side. “I liked your little magic trick. I had a clown do that one time at my tenth birthday party.” 

Johnny hasn’t seen the guy in over ten years, and it’s like not a day has gone by, he stops himself before he can widen his feet and clench his fists into a fighting position. “I liked your little trick. What’s that called, ‘The LaRusso Cock Block?’ Or is that just what your face does every time you walk into a bar?” 

LaRusso's jaw goes tight, a sharp line from the divot below his ear down to his chin. Johnny sees the fingers on his beer glass go white. _“Fuck you,_ Johnny, you haven’t changed a bit--” 

“Neither have you, apparently, because you can’t go anywhere without chasing away my girl--” 

LaRusso scoffs, his nose wrinkling up. His teeth are really white. “Ali wasn’t _your girl_ , first of all because you can’t _own_ somebody, second because she’d already broken up with you--” 

“Yeah, and how’s that feel? I heard she wrecked your car and dumped you on the side of the road in your tuxedo--” 

“That’s none of your business, asshole--” LaRusso gets right up in his space, finger prodding into Johnny’s chest, and it’s a little thrilling, anyway. He didn’t even really realize he was spoiling for a fight, but his blood was singing with adrenaline, now, he felt really fucking good, actually—

Johnny has to bite back like, a real smile. He smirks instead, exactly in the way he knows will rile LaRusso right up. “You’re just _jealous,”_ he laughs. “You couldn’t pick up a girl that looked like Kraren if your life depended on it.” 

Daniel’s shoulders drop, and his face wrinkles up in confusion. “I’m sorry, did you just say _‘Kraren?’_ ” 

Oh. Right. 

“I fucking-- no, _idiot,_ I didn’t say that, her name is ‘KAREN’, stupid, why would I say ‘Kraren’, are you high? Jesus, LaRusso...” Johnny hides behind an aggressive gulp of beer. 

LaRusso actually laughs, and he rolls his eyes, in sort of an exasperated way, not all pissy and angry like he had before. Johnny also notices his eyelashes were really long like a girl’s, and he knows this wasn’t the first time he’d noticed, just that he’d forgotten. Ten years was a long time, after all. 

(He also remembers Tommy laughing at him, _take a picture, Johnny, it’ll last longer_ and Johnny snapping back that he wasn’t staring across the lockers at LaRusso, he was _glaring,_ dammit, and that there was big fucking difference between those two things.)

“--another beer?” 

Johnny shakes his head. “Um, what?” 

LaRusso is standing here with his mouth half-open, and he actually flicks his tongue out and _licks his lips--_ “Can I buy you another beer?” he nods toward Johnny’s empty glass. 

Johnny sighs, because he’s pretty sure all he has left in his pocket was like four bucks in damp, wadded up dollar bills. “Sure thing, Hero,” he says, not sure Daniel would even remember the nickname from the beach. 

Daniel laughs, full mouth and the lines around his eyes crinkle into crow’s feet, and somehow it’s a good look on him despite being only like twenty seven or eight, or however old he was. He looked barely out of high school. 

“Okay, King Karate,” he pulls a wallet out of his slacks, and flicks his hair to the side. “What are you drinking?” 

Johnny watches him order, watches him push up on his toes and lean on his elbows against the bar, and he holds out his hand for the change, slipping two quarters into his front pocket absently, handing the bills back across the bar, a tip that was too generous for two pints of cheap domestic draft. Johnny wonders if he always tips like that, or if he felt pressured or something, because Johnny was watching him. 

Daniel hands the glass over, brushing their fingers together just a little. 

“You wanna get a booth?” he asks, eyes wide and guileless, like he hadn’t just been glaring at Johnny a couple of minutes ago.

Johnny sighs, suddenly remembering _exactly_ why he had hoped to never, ever, see Daniel LaRusso ever again. 

He hears Tommy’s loud cackle echoing in his head, _“As much as you talk about him, maybe you should marry him, Johnny! John-ny and Dan-ielle, sittin’ in a tree, K-I-S-S-”_

But Tommy wasn’t within striking distance, now, and you couldn’t pop a memory right in the mouth and shut it up. 

So instead he follows LaRusso over to a row of empty booths, sits down, and tries not to stare too hard.

***

Daniel can’t believe it. 

Johnny Lawrence, still huge and intimidating and looking like a Valley Girl’s wet dream (the chiseled jaw and the blue eyes and the blonde hair, _ridiculous--)_ was sitting across from him, sharing a beer. His hair was shorter, and darker, but that was probably the sweat, little pieces of it falling across his forehead. He hadn’t changed much besides the hair, but his face looked a little longer, a little sharper. 

A little tired, too. 

“You still sellin’ baby trees out of that crack house on Reseda Boulevard?” 

Daniel hunches forward on his elbows, huffing a little laugh into his beer. The failure of _Mr. Miyagi’s Little Trees_ still hurt, but these days he was making enough money to keep the lights on and food on the table. Mr. Miyagi would say he’s working too hard, but it had been a close thing for a couple of years, keeping the bank off their backs. The fact that they’d only had to sell the Pontiac station wagon, and not _the whole fleet--_ well Daniel counted that as a victory. 

“Nah, it’s been a few years since we had to close the doors.” He pursed his lips, tapping his fingers on the cold glass. “I’m selling cars now.” 

Johnny snorted, nodding, like he was in on a joke. 

“What?” 

“The suit,” Johnny nods down at the loose tie, and the sports jacket slung over the back of the booth. “I was guessing.” 

_“Ah--_ hey, man, I sell a lot of cars in this suit.” 

“Yeah, I bet,” Johnny took a cryptic drink, eyes dancing behind his glass, and it was strange because Daniel hadn’t known there was much there besides anger, and maybe the despair he’d last seen in the parking lot outside the arena. “So you’re good?”

Daniel raised his eyebrows. “At what?” 

“At selling cars, doofus.” 

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, I’m...” Daniel bit his lip, thinking of the phone interview he had later that week, the guys at the nicer dealerships with the crisper suits, the _luxury_ brands, BMW and Audi, Lexus, Porsche. He wanted it, he _did_...but. 

It was funny. The further down the road in life you got, when things started lining up for you. You started to look back, and off to the side. You started asking _what if,_ looking at the grass on the other side of the fence. 

“I’m pretty good, I guess.” He pulled a sideways smile, took another drink. 

“Well don’t look so thrilled about it, jesus LaRusso.” 

“Yeah, no. It’s good. I guess I--” he clicked his tongue, staring at Johnny’s hands across the table, the dirt under his fingernails. “I guess I wasn’t picturing myself selling cars, after high school. I guess you never know where your life’s going.” 

Johnny stays quiet a minute. His beer is empty, and Daniel thinks he should get him another one, but the moment is a little heavy. 

“Where’d you think it was going?” he asks, voice softer than Daniel was expecting. 

“Karate,” the words drop out, immediate and thoughtless. “I thought Mr. Miyagi and I would be teaching karate. That we’d have a school, like Cobra Kai, but-- but different.” He clears his throat, not knowing anything about Johnny’s life after Kreese, after Cobra Kai. “But Miyagi-do...it’s not like that. He doesn’t believe in taking money to teach, you know. Not for public consumption, I guess.” 

“Do you,” he continues, trying to push a little despite the sudden way Johnny’s expression had tightened up. “Do you still do karate?” 

Johnny shakes his head, strains to look back over at the bar, catches the bartender’s eye and gestures for another round. 

“No,” he swallows, turning back around. 

Daniel nods, leaning back after the guy comes by with two more beers, grabbing the empty glasses. 

“Kind of a shame, Johnny,” Daniel clicks his tongue. “You were good.” 

“Yeah, and I could still kick your ass, LaRusso,” Johnny cocks his chin up and the air lightens considerably. 

Daniel feels a slow grin, and he reaches across the table, Johnny jerking slightly when his fingers curl around his chin, tilting it from side to side. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I was just lookin’ to see how your nose was healin’ up,” Daniel laughs, letting go. 

“Ah, fuck off LaRusso,” Johnny rolls his eyes, not really looking that mad.

“Anyway what are you doing these days? You still driving that red Avanti? I never wanted to say but that car, man,” Daniel whistles. 

Johnny shakes his head. “Step-dad sold it. Fuckin’ asshole. Nah, I’m driving the company car these days.” 

“Your...step-dad’s company?” 

“Nah. I’m working for Bobby’s dad.” 

“Oh. That’s cool.” Daniel’s knee twinges in sympathy. “Is uh...Bobby still around?” 

“He left,” Johnny takes a deep drink, finishing half the beer. “Fucked off for greener pastures, or something.” 

“What about the rest of the guys?” 

“Gone, baby,” Johnny finishes his beer. “Everybody left. C’mon. Let’s go.” 

Daniel frowns, but finds himself grabbing his jacket, following without question. “Where?” he asks, not really caring. 

Johnny finishes off the rest of Daniel’s beer, too, and Daniel watches his throat work it down, little beads of sweat falling down the long column of his neck. “I dunno yet. But let’s go, alright?” 

“Yeah, alright,” Daniel nods and follows him, feeling a little like a lab rat following the faintest scent of cheese, off through the maze to God only knew where.

***

They stop off at the liquor store and Johnny grabs a 12-pack but LaRusso convinces him to downsize to a six-pack because “somebody’s gotta drive home, Johnny, we don’t need that many” and Johnny’s not entirely sure what they’re doing or where they’re going or _why,_ but LaRusso follows and doesn’t ask any questions, and there’s something about him buckling up on the other side of the bench seat in the big orange truck that Johnny likes the sight of.

Johnny points the truck west toward the setting sun, and Daniel rolls the window down and drags his fingers through the wind, sleeves rolled up and his jacket on the seat between them, everything cast in orange. He turns off the freeway and Daniel turns the radio on low and reaches down and cracks open a beer. They don’t talk much, Daniel gazes out the open window and occasionally hands Johnny the beer for a sip, but he doesn’t ask any questions, just nods his head along to the rock station. 

They turn south through Calabasas on Old Topanga Canyon Road, then turn west onto Mulholland Highway, the vague destination starting to crystallize in Johnny’s mind, he hasn’t been up here in years, not since he’d taken Ali back in ‘83, back when he’d been madly in love and his life was spread out in front of him like the slowly unfurling view of the Valley. 

They turn left onto Stunt Road, and the pavement starts to crack and turn to dust and gravel. Johnny slows down and they listen to the sound of the tires crunching on gravel. There isn’t anybody else parked in the parking lot at the trailhead. Johnny grabs the beer and Daniel leaves his jacket on the seat. 

“I’ve never been up here,” he remarks, shouldering through an opening in the closed gate, blocking the rest of the trail off from vehicle traffic. He looks funny, hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks, dress shoes already covered in dust. 

“It’s a good view,” Johnny shrugs, the remaining five beers hanging from their plastic rings, laced across the tips of his fingers. 

The hike is only about a mile, canting up steeply the last quarter to the site of an old fire tower. The tower was long gone, but a buckling strip of graffitied concrete pad provided a good place to sit and finish the beer and watch the sunset, west and off to the left. They walk to the end and dangle their legs over the edge. The evening wind is soft and cool, and Johnny finally starts to feel the past few weeks (ok maybe months, and maybe even years) begin to melt off his shoulders and seep out of the stiff cracks in his head. He feels loose from the beer and the view and the company. 

The sun dips, kissing the horizon, painting the valley a deep pink. 

“Does that trick ever work?” 

Daniel was looking over at him, squinting against the sun. 

“What. The coin thing?” 

“Yeah,” he nods. “Where’d you learn that?” 

Johnny reaches behind him, pulling out one of the last two beers. “A magician never reveals his secrets, LaRusso.” 

LaRusso nods, amused and deeply serious. “Does it work though? With the girls?” 

“What do you think?” Johnny cracks the can open. 

“I think you probably don’t need a coin trick,” Daniel reaches for Johnny’s can, and Johnny’s fingers are loose enough to let him. 

Johnny watches him drink, watches him flick his hair out of his eyes and hand the can back over. 

Johnny’s mouth goes a little dry. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Daniel rolls his eyes, looks back out over the Valley, tongue flicking out over his lips. “It means not all of us have...” Daniel gestures, hands waving out to the horizon. “... _Krarens_ falling into our laps all the time. _Some of us,”_ he emphasized with his voice and his eyebrows, “have to put a little work in.” 

Johnny laughs, feeling a light, bubbly feeling in his chest. “I bet you do alright, LaRusso.” 

He rolls his eyes again, front teeth biting into his lip. “I don’t have time for that stuff anyway.” 

“What, you’re too busy chasing off other people’s girlfriends to get one yourself?” 

“I work long hours,” Daniel reaches for the beer again. “Plus, let’s just say the walls at Mr. Miyagi’s place are pretty thin. Kinda hard to bring anybody home.” 

Johnny has a brief moment where his mind goes totally blank, except for the thought of LaRusso taking somebody home, probably a nice sweet brunette with great legs, taking her by the hand and pulling her into his paper-walled room, giving her the big brown puppy dog look.

“So you haven’t...” Johnny clears his throat. 

“What?” 

“Brought anybody home?” 

LaRusso’s cheeks go pink. “Well, just not to Mr. Miyagi’s place.” 

“So you’ve _taken_ girls home.” 

“Well yeah.” 

“Did you do the deed? Seal the deal? Knock boots?”

Daniel’s face is bright red. “I’m not talkin’ about my love life with you--” 

He totally hasn’t. 

“Did you feed the kitty?” Johnny presses, delighting in Daniel’s embarrassment. “Take a trip to pound town?”  
  
“Shut up—”

“Look, it’s nothin’ to be embarrassed about, I mean you’re almost thirty so it’s a little sad--” 

“I’m NOT a virgin, Johnny,” Daniel snaps. “I mean, it’s just complicated, and I don’t really want to talk about it with you--” 

“So you’ve done some stuff, but not other stuff,” Johnny reasons, taking the beer back again. “Blow jobs don’t count as sex, you know.” 

“Whatever,” Daniel crosses his arms over his chest, looks off to the west, the sun barely hanging above the tops of the hills. 

_“You kno-ow,”_ Johnny sing-songs, “I could show you how to do my trick. Chicks love it.” 

“I know how to do your stupid trick, idiot. You hide the stupid coin behind your fingers, any idiot could figure that out.” 

“I bet you couldn’t,” Johnny teases. “I bet I could impress your pants off right now.” 

Daniel’s mouth hangs open, he’s trying to look all taken aback and disgusted but Johnny can tell he’s having fun. Johnny rolls his hip to the side, reaches a hand into his jeans pocket, pulling out his magic quarter. He holds it up, trying to catch the last of the light. 

“You see, LaRusso. This isn’t any regular quarter. This is a magic quarter.” 

LaRusso presses his tongue against his teeth, trying not to smile too hard. “Oh, really?” 

Johnny nods sagely. “Yes, in fact. A genie gave it to me.” 

“Oh, was the genie’s name _Kmart?_ Bluelight special? Maybe came with a magic wand and a stuffed rabbit?”

“I can see you’re the skeptical type.” Johnny rolls the coin back and forth over his knuckles, and Daniel’s eyes fall down to his hand. “You’ll just have to see it to believe it.” 

“Uh huh.” LaRusso flips his hair again, it’s harder to see his eyes in the fading light. 

Johnny rolls the coin some more, knuckle to knuckle, using his pinky to pass it back through the inside of this palm to his thumb, and over and over again. He can do it pretty fast, if he says so himself. Daniel’s eyes stay glued to the quarter, and Johnny wonders if he did it long enough, maybe he could hypnotize him like the hypnotist that had come to their school once Junior year, convinced Tommy to hop up and down like a bunny rabbit. 

Johnny squeezes his fist shut, stopping the coin. Johnny takes his other hand, snaps in the air above his closed fist. 

“So where’s the coin?” 

“It’s still in your fist,” Daniel’s eyebrows are pinched, concentrating. 

Johnny rolls his fist side to side, then raises it. “Blow on it.” 

Daniel rolls his eyes. “Just open your fist--” 

“To make the magic work, you gotta blow on it, dummy,” Johnny grins. 

Daniel raises an eyebrow skeptically, but leans forward, purses his lips, and _blows--_

Johnny watches his eyelashes flutter on his cheeks, jaw open and cheeks hollowed out as his hot breath puffs over Johnny’s fingers. 

He pulls back. “Ok so open your hand.” 

Johnny opens his hand, and enjoys the shocked look on LaRusso’s face. 

No quarter. 

Daniel grabs his hand, turning it over, then back over again. His fingertips are a little rougher than Johnny expected. “How’d you--” 

Johnny loves this part, the wonder sparking in Daniel’s eyes, big and dark and awed. 

“Want me to make it come back?” 

Daniel looks up, his hair falling halfway over his face, fingers still scattered over Johnny’s open hand. 

“Yeah,” he says, eyes wide.

Johnny nods. Closes his eyes, pretends to concentrate. He opens his eyes again. 

“Okay. Check your left pocket.” 

“What?” Daniel’s eyebrows go up. 

“I said, check your left front pocket, LaRusso.” 

“No way,” Daniel shakes his head, but pulls one hand from Johnny’s to reach into his pocket, and he freezes with his fingers dipped in. He slowly pulls out a quarter. 

Johnny tilts his head to the side, nodding matter-of-factly. “I told ya.” 

Daniel’s face is all shock, mind reeling, until he finally seems to catch on something. “Wait,” he reasons with himself. Finally he remembers, and smiles a little slow. “The change. From the bar.” 

Johnny shrugs. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.” 

“How did you even remember that?” 

Johnny clicks his tongue. _“Magic.”_

Daniel finally laughs, letting go of Johnny’s hand, and Johnny flexes his fingers, not having moved them since Daniel grabbed them up in shock. 

“Shit,” he breathes, “No wonder the girls all love you. I’ll admit, it’s pretty good.” 

“It worked on you,” Johnny leans in, feeling a little bold. A lot buzzed.

“Not quite,” Daniel is very close, he’s not freaked out or anything, and Johnny feels warm all over. 

“What do you mean?” 

“The coin in my pocket was a different coin. You didn’t make the first one come back.” 

Johnny angles forward, keeping one arm behind his back, and he feels the cool metal quarter slip back down from under his sleeve. He slips it between his thumb and index finger. 

“You want me to make it come back.” 

“Yeah,” Daniel’s voice is low, soft. 

“Okay. I think I can see it--” Johnny pretends to squint somewhere over Daniel’s shoulder. He reaches behind his head, leaning even closer, and flips the coin back into place, pulling it out, brushing against Daniel’s ear.

“Here it is,” Johnny whispers, close enough to kiss, trying to keep the shake out of his voice. The sun is gone, now, leaving the Valley dark and covered in cricket song.

Daniel plucks the coin from his fingers and presses in for a kiss, and Johnny’s shoulders lose any remaining tension, melting hot and loose. He slips his hand across Daniel’s jaw, pushing the fringe of his hair back, soft and dark, and Daniel’s mouth opens easy and wide. Daniel pulls back slightly, changes the angle and comes back in quick and urgent, scrambling into Johnny's lap, and Johnny thinks, _smart kid._

They make out for awhile, for a long time, and Daniel finally pulls him up and they hold hands all the way to the truck, and Daniel pushes Johnny across the seat and slips behind the wheel, which Johnny is grateful for because he’s pretty sure he’d drive right off the road, just thinking about how LaRusso’s fingernails felt at the nape of his neck just a few minutes ago. 

Daniel doesn’t drive back to the bar, he drives West to Canoga Park, to a tree-filled lot behind a big fence, and Johnny cranes to look up over the top of the fence to see a little blue house. Daniel kills the engine and grabs Johnny’s hand, pulling him toward the house. 

“I thought you didn’t bring people home,” Johnny pulls him in close, the moon glints dark off his hair. “I thought the walls were too thin.” 

“It doesn’t really matter if nobody’s home, does it?” 

Johnny frowns. “Your teacher--” 

“He’s in Boston, visiting a friend,” he murmurs. “He’s gone all week.” 

“OH,” Johnny breathes, mind finally catching up as Daniel leans in to nip at his neck.

“C’mon on in,” Daniel pulls back, opening the gate, and Johnny can see the faint glint of moonlight on water, and tiny trees in pots, and a white punching bag swinging gently in the night wind like a ghost. “Lemme show you around.” 

Daniel pulls him inside, the gate clicks shut behind him. “WOW,” Johnny breathes, taking it all in. 

There isn’t really a better word to describe the place than magical. The night wind whispering through the trees, and Daniel LaRusso (no tie, jacket long gone) lit up in moonlight.

Johnny pushes him inside, and shows him a few more tricks. 

***

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Drone Video - Topanga Overlook  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZzvC3NcICM
> 
> Also the change being in Daniel's pocket was Narcissablaxk 's idea!! Bless!!


End file.
